


Outside Looking In-The Seven Seasons of Thorongil/Aragorn II

by Velocity_Owl87



Series: The King's Daughter [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Arranged Marriage, Escape, F/M, Families of Choice, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gender Issues, Infidelity, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Secret Relationship, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn (under the name Thorongil) went to Gondor to gain experience after finding out his lineage. What he didn't expect to gain was the affection of the Steward, a position guarding the lonely Finduilas, a flight to Rohan, Service to the Eorl of Rohan, a family and a quest. This is his story told in seven parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside Looking In-The Seven Seasons of Thorongil/Aragorn II

**Author's Note:**

> This story plays fast and loose with the time line hardcore in that the Gondorians and Rohirrim are about twenty years younger than in cannon. Aragorn is still the same age and most of the backbone of this story is taken from the Appendixes in "Return of the King" regarding the stories of Aragorn, Gondor and Rohan. 
> 
> I stumbled across an essay by Michael Moorcock tearing Milne and Tolkien apart and it got the idea rolling for this in that the characters don't really behave like the respectable and honourable paragons that they were originally written as. Also, the gender imbalance and portrayal of the women in the book has always bothered me, so hence the swapping.
> 
> Aragorn here is also a bit on the grey side in that he doesn't do quite was is expected of him, but he does keep his promises when they are made. I wanted to write about what would have happened to a daughter of Denethor and how her mother would have been treated and what forms his affection/madness would have taken instead. Reading between the lines, Denethor "loved" his wife, but she still died much too young for a Numenorean and I honestly don't think if Aragorn had been watching all of this, he would have done nothing to help her before she died. 
> 
> So sort of a fix it with the pasts of some of the characters in that many of them get a happier past and some normalcy before everything goes to hell six ways from Sunday.
> 
> Also, Rohan in this story has the king (Eorl) and a Marshall (Eomund, Eomer's dad). I did actually use the Appendixes and did do my own research, but for all intents and purposes, this is playing fast and loose.
> 
> Also, this has been proofed, but if I have made mistakes, my apologies and I will try and fix them.

One

Aragorn came as a young officer to serve under Ecthelion II, the Steward of Gondor. He had called himself “Thorongil” and had risen through the ranks and had gained the respect and affection of Ecthelion as well as the wrath of Denethor, the heir of the Steward.

Aragorn never planned to cause strife, so he tried his best to remove himself from the situation. Even going as far as giving up his post when Finduilas of Dol Amroth arrived. But Ecthelion wouldn’t hear of it an instead, assigned him to watch over the young princess. He tried to refuse, since he could see the complete hatred that Denethor had in regards to having Aragorn around his wife. But his father’s words were law and he had to tolerate the order with as much grace as he could muster.

So despite his reluctance, Aragorn took the post and promised himself that as soon as he was able, he would make his excuses and head up to the lands of the Dunedain or to hide amongst the troops of Rohan under Thengel King. But his promise fell by the wayside when he met Finduilas for the first time. It wasn’t that he was falling in love with her. At least he didn’t think so. But when he first saw her set foot in Minas Tirith, he knew that he would remain for as long as she needed him.

She was a dark haired, pale faced slip of a girl with the most enormous green eyes he had ever seen in his life.  Although she walked with confidence and a natural grace that befitted her station; Aragorn could already see that whatever hopes and dreams she carried were slowly shattered as she came closer to her husband to be. Denethor may have been handsome, but he was old enough to be her father and was stern with it. He was far from the husband that the southern girl needed.

Aragorn also knew that while he wasn’t what she needed either, he could provide some measure of comfort. Comfort that he could provide right then and there. Gondor may never truly be her home, but he could ease the homesickness somewhat by simply being kind.

“Lady Finduilas. I am Captain Thorongil. At your service.” Aragorn introduced himself, stepping out from the neat line of Gondorian Soldiers and bowing to her.  When he raised his head, he found himself looking straight into peridot green eyes that now blazed with some warmth. Warmth that also brought colour to her pale cheeks and made her look sweeter and more beautiful than before.

“At my service, Captain?” She murmured her voice low and throaty, the sound sultry and quite at odds with her appearance. She smiled demurely as she extended her hand for him to take. He kissed her hand and straightened up, tucking her arm into his.

“At your service for as long as you require it, my Lady Finduilas.” Aragorn replied, the old courtly manners that had been drilled into him by Elrond and his mother coming back without much effort. She blushed prettily at that and Aragorn felt pleased that he had helped banish the sad expression for the moment. He smiled at her and she lowered her head, a shy chaste maiden and that was what Denethor saw when he came to fetch his bride. He scowled briefly at Aragorn, but said nothing his expression softening suddenly when Finduilas looked up.

Seeing that made Aragorn hope that maybe, just maybe, Finduilas would thrive and he would be superfluous and be discharged from his duties to take up his long neglected ones again.

Two

He had been staring out the window and enjoying a smoke, a rare thing for him when his chamber doors slowly opened, His head jerked towards the sound and his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. But when he made out the slim shape in the dim light, he lowered his sword and waited. She closed the door quickly and noiselessly slipped into his chamber on bare feet that made no sound. He sat and waited for her, keeping still until she was standing in front of him.

They didn’t speak as she crawled into his lap, her only clothing her nightgown and the long sweep of her hair. He waited until she was settled in a comfortable position before he started to run his fingers through her hair. She sighed and laid her head on his chest as he continued to separate the strands with his fingers while softly singing a song of his long ago childhood.

“He’s not come again.” She murmured her voice so low that he had to strain to hear it. He paused in the singing and stroking her hair at her words.

“Is there a child? Is that why he does not come?” He asked her, his hands moving again as he tried to find out why Denethor had stopped sharing a chamber with his pretty young wife months after she had come to Minas Tirith.

“He thinks that there is.” Finduilas replied quietly, making Aragorn’s insides go cold at the words. So she had lost it, after all. He had guessed that was why she had been so skittish and standoffish all those weeks ago, looking more delicate and vulnerable until slowly, ever so slowly, she regained some of her bloom back. But there had been a scar left and even though Denethor was a far-seeing man, he had missed seeing that in his young wife.

“What will you do? He will be angry that he won’t have an heir to follow in his footsteps.”

Finduilas shuddered and her hands clenched into his tunic, the one embroidered with an insignia that he could easily reach out and claim as his own. But won’t. Her fingers clutched at him and he held her until the shuddering had stopped. He knew the answer to the question she hadn’t even gotten around to asking. Knew it as well as if she had spoken it out loud.

He should have pushed her away right then and there. He should have never let her in that first night, when she had come to him with her swollen face and reddened eyes. He should have remembered another set of pale eyes and long dark hair. Of promises in gardens and of years yearned for. He should have remembered all of it and chosen differently when faced with Finduilas in his arms and her silent questions.

He should have done the right thing. But he also knew far too well that if he had done so, Finduilas would have faded away completely before this. Whether he liked it or not, he was her anchor. For better or for ill, she trusted him and loved him. Maybe more so than her own husband.

He couldn’t blame her for not completely giving Denethor her heart. She had no say in the matter when she had been presented to him. She was little more than a child and married to a man old enough to be her father and torn from her home. Aragorn had been her only constant and the only one that truly listened and knew her as a person rather than as a wife to be kept in the stone rooms of the city.

Aragorn knew what it took to be an honourable man and a compassionate one and when the two wouldn’t meet. He knew he would be, in effect, committing treason if he took the next step. He also knew that if he didn’t take the risk, he would blame himself from seeing the bright life of Finduilas snuffed out.

It was that which made up his mind in the end. He could easier live with supposed breaking of an oath than being responsible for the destroying of a life when he could have prevented it. He wrapped his arms around her trembling body and for the first time in their acquaintance, pressed his lips to the curve of her cheek. She let go of his tunic, unfurling her fingers one by one before she moved her head so that their lips touched.

She was timid in her movements and clumsy with them also. But the intent was there and when their mouths met, he kissed her as deeply as he dared. The kiss was long and drawn out as they mapped each other’s lips, tongues and mouths. Despite the desire that was clouding his mind; he knew that they didn’t have time.

He pulled away from her and stood up, prompting her to move as well and he then led her to the narrow bed that he called his own. It wasn’t a queen’s bed, but it would have to do. She lay down without a protest and watched as he stripped off his armour and clothing, her eyes shining as she took in the sight of him before he covered her body with his.

He didn’t speak and claimed her mouth instead; lest he make a promise he would be unable to keep.

Three

“So _this_ is the Jewel of Gondor.” Ecthelion noted as he bent over the small, tightly swaddled bundle in his daughter in law’s arms.  Aragorn stood in the corner as always, ever watchful, his expression flat as he watched the Steward pick up the baby adroitly and cradle her in his arms. Denethor stood by his wife’s bed, his expression serious as always as he watched his father with his child.

“Why Boromir though? Surely it is too unwieldy a name for such a little girl to carry, even if she is the daughter of the future Steward.” Ecthelion mused as he stroked his grand-daughter’s forehead, prompting her to open her eyelids and reveal stunningly bright green eyes exactly like her mother’s.  There was no doubt as to whom she took after at all. Nothing of Gondor was in her. It was all Southern Numenorean and alien to the White City and its Stewards.

“Her name was picked out long before she was born.” Denethor explained his eyes still cold as he looked at the daughter that he hadn’t expected, nor knew what to do with. Despite not saying much, his disappointment was still clear. He had expected his firstborn to be a son and hadn’t planned for a daughter, hence the poor child being given such a weighty and unfeminine name.

“No matter, she is a precious jewel, our Boromir is.” Ecthelion replied, smiling down at Boromir, who had started to snuffle and give small whimpers signalling her need for her mother. Ecthelion wasted no time in handing her back to Finduilas, who was already opening her gown in preparation to nurse her daughter. Seeing that made the men quickly make their platitudes and leave. All except Aragorn, who still stood by the side and watched as they all departed the room.

He was sure that if the child had been the expected boy, they would have stayed and made comments about his appetite and probable virility. But as it was, Boromir was a girl and was better left to her mother to deal with until it was time to dress her up and sell her for the best alliance. The proper commentary had been made about her looks and name. They were done.

But he wasn’t.

“Do you want to hold her, after she’s done?” Finduilas asked as he walked up to the bed and looked down at his daughter, who was nursing heartily at her mother’s pale breast.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure.” Aragorn whispered as he looked down at his daughter, in all but name.

He thought that he would have been able to live with the pain of not ever being able to acknowledge his child brought. To see her, and not be able to tell her she was his. To tell her that he loved her, that she was loved and he would do everything in his power to let her know that. He could do it, but it would always be clandestine. He would always see her and she would be there out of reach and never truly his.  He had believed that he would have been able to deal with that agony. But he had been wrong. He had never counted on his own heart betraying him when he first set eyes upon her.

Despite being a squalling, squished and red-faced screaming bundle; to him, she was simply perfect.  Although he had kept his distance, he had seen how her skin had gone to a pale pink and how already; he could see familiar traits of her grandmother in the delicate ears and bridge of her nose.

He watched her, patiently waiting for her to finish before he wordlessly reached out to cradle her in his arms.  He couldn’t get over as to how small and fragile she was. How warm and how she smelled fresh and with the slightest hint of milk on her petal soft skin. She yawned and sleepily smacked her lips, prompting him to run a finger lightly over them. He watched her, in quiet wonder as she briefly suckled his fingertip before losing interest and raising her sleepy eyes up to meet his.

He smiled at her and wanted to tell her she was his father and that he would always love her and protect her, no matter what. But he had no claims to her. He had given his word to Finduilas and would see it through to the end. But he could give his daughter something at least.

_“Mein Eskelde”_

It was the closest he would ever get to a blessing for his daughter, but at least he could give it.

He kissed her forehead one more time before he reluctantly returned her to her mother.

Four

Aragorn held Boromir’s hand as they walked behind Finduilas’ body. Behind them walked the Steward and his son. Faramir was in the Steward’s arms, much too young to comprehend why they were walking behind his mother and why so many people were crying. He had just turned one and had no idea that his beloved mother that had sung him to sleep would never do so again.

His uncle and aunt walked behind them, their faces white and wet with tears. Finduilas, their beloved was gone. She had faded away in the city and now, they were there to take her back. To bury her by the sea and the flowers that she had loved as a girl. It was the last thing that they could do for her, since they couldn’t take her children with them.

They belonged to Gondor and they would stay in Gondor.  Imhadril hadn’t been pleased with Boromir, especially Boromir, being called as such. He spent much time coddling her, holding her and talking to her and irritating her father. Ecthelion had only accepted it and Aragorn had learned to tolerate it, since Boromir and Faramir stuck to him like glue and would seldom leave his side after their mother’s last illness. It didn’t mean that he had to like it.

But he encouraged the interest that Imhadril showed them and fervently hoped that he would try to circumvent the old adage of Gondorian children remaining on Gondorian soil and take them before they faded away. Take them to Dol Arnoth and have them know what their mother knew of warmth and of a childhood without too many shadows hanging over them. If he could manage that, he perhaps would be able to leave Gondor with the knowledge that he hadn’t failed Finduilas or Boromir.

But for now, he would walk with them. Give them that much before he finally presented his resignation to Ecthelion and made his way back to the Dunedain. He had done his duty. Finduilas was gone and he had to resist the temptation of staying in Gondor for Boromir’s sake. He had to leave before she grew into her maturity and Imhadril and others noticed anything was amiss.

Now, they had Finduilas to send off. Everything else would be arranged in time.

They continued walking so that the people of Gondor could say their one last goodbye to Denethor’s wife. She had died much too young, they murmured as they threw flowers that would be crushed underfoot. Her father was taking her home one last time and Denethor had fought it, but Ecthelion had agreed.

She had died looking to the south and despite Denethor finally breaking the coldness of his expression to weep over her…it was much too late. She was gone from him forever and Denethor had to control himself with a discipline that he had found easy before, but was eluding him now. Aragorn was sure that the weight of his son and the grip that Ecthelion had on him were the only things keeping Denethor from walking beside his wife’s body.

At last, they made it to the ship that would bring her to Dol Amroth and that was where the Prince of Ithlien left them. He and his men took Finduilas and departed, none of them looking back.

It was only then that Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief and looked down at Boromir, who was looking at him and finally threw her arms up, wanting to be picked up. He should have said no, but her eyes were too much like her mother’s. As was her hair. So he simply bent down and picked her up, cradling her like he had so many times before.

“Let’s go back to your chambers, little one.” Aragorn murmured in her lily of the valley scented hair, making her nod and burrow deeper into his chest.

He looked out at the ship as it sailed one last time and tried to not give into the tears prickling at his eyes. She had deserved more than what she had gotten in her life. Much more.

~*~*~*~

He had just finished loading up his pack and tying it to his horse when the stable doors burst open to reveal Ecthelion and Beregon carrying the children wrapped up in cloaks. They were illuminated by the gold and orange lights that came from one source only: Fire. Seeing this, Aragorn felt his heart sink as he realized that something horrible had just taken place.

“I know I am asking far too much of you. I know that you no longer in the service of Gondor, but I need for you to take up this one last task. If not for my sake, then for the sake of her children’s survival.”

Aragorn sighed heavily and turned to look at the Steward, nearly recoiling at the deep grooves of sorrow etched in his proud and noble face. He wanted to fight and tell him it was done. He was freed from any obligations now that Finduilas had passed, but he would have been lying to himself if that had been the case. The little girl with a bruised and smudged face and wet eyes was his responsibility.  Even if Ecthelion and the rest of Gondor were unaware of it, he would take care of her.

“What do you need me to do?” He asked his defenses dropping as he mounted his horse and bent down to scoop up Boromir and then Faramir. He arranged them in front of him and made sure that despite the long and hard ride that they were facing, they wouldn’t fall off of his saddle.

“Take them somewhere safe. They aren’t safe in Gondor any longer. At least not until my son’s madness abates. The darkness has taken over his mind now that Finduilas is gone. If he finds the children-“He broke off and bit his lip, not daring to voice what he suspected would happen if the children were not spirited away from their father’s grasp.

Aragorn shuddered, his arm tightening around Faramir and Boromir, bringing them closer to his body as if to stave off any attacks that would be found in the stables.

“I will find a safe place for them. If not in Rivendell, or the north, then in Rohan. They will be safe with me, I promise it.”

Ecthelion nodded and stepped closer to give his grandchildren last embraces before he sent them away from him. He knew that he would never see them again once they were out of the city gates. He just knew that he would live out the rest of his days with the knowledge that they were out of his reach. But at least they would be safe and that mattered more than seeing them again.

“The gatekeepers know to let you through. So go. You cannot tarry any longer.”

Aragorn nodded and spurred his horse away from Gondor and as fast as he dared.

Five

Aragorn had sworn that he had only drifted off a few moments while riding near the Rohirrim borders. He could have sworn that it had been just a moment. Surely he hadn’t been asleep long enough for the Eorl and the Marshall of the Mark and their Rohirrim to surround him and the children.

“What is your business here, stranger?” Aragorn shook the sleep away from him and sat up straighter in the saddle when he heard the Eorl speak.  He swallowed hard to ease the roughness of his throat before he answered.

“I seek only the visitor’s rights to travel. My children desperately need sleep and food if it can be gotten. If not, I only seek to cross your lands to get to Rivendell and seek the council of Elrond who dwells there.”

Aragorn replied, lifting first one and then the other hand to show that he was unarmed. The children were deeply asleep and he didn’t dare risk letting go of them in case they fell off. He already had had a few scares with Faramir slipping off and Boromir following suit, so he wouldn’t take any chances. 

The Eorl rode closer and carefully looked at the children’s faces and then at Aragorn. His dark blue eyes were quick and sharp as he took in their states. He was quiet for several moments before he signalled his men to lower their lances and break formation. The Marshall rode up and was about to comment when the Eorl gestured to the children. They had a brief and harshly whispered conversation before the Marshall finally nodded his assent to the Eorl and Aragorn.

“Follow us and you shall have what you requested for the children and yourself. “

Aragorn inclined his head and nudged his horse to make that one last effort. Edoras was not that far away and soon, everyone would be able to rest peacefully at last.

~*~*~*~

“When will go back home?” Boromir asked him as he strapped on the armour of the Rohirrim in preparation for his evening patrol.

Aragorn sighed inwardly when he heard the question. He had hoped that it wouldn’t come. After all, Boromir and Faramir had settled quite nicely into Rohan once they had rested and been properly fed and coddled. It had been weeks before he had been able to pry either one of them from his tunic and fulfill the promise he had made to the Eorl and the Marshall to join in their patrols.

It had been an awkward few weeks, since him being with the children meant that he had to spend time with the women and in turn, he got more knowledge of the domestics of Rohan than he had ever intended. He also became a favourite of the royal children and got to watch first-hand the interactions between Eomer, Eowyn and Theodred with Boromir and Faramir. Many times, he had to resist the urge to jump in and defend the siblings when playtime took a nasty edge, despite knowing that it was just the way of children.

He was glad to see though, that things had calmed down. He did kick himself though, for being lulled into a false sense of security that neither one of the children would start to ask why they were in Rohan and not at home.

He knelt down so that they were eye to eye before he started to explain why they were never going to go back to Gondor ever again.  She was nearly seven and despite it being a hard concept to explain he decided he would always be honest with her. Even when it was painful to do so.

“We aren’t going back to Gondor. Your home is in Rohan now and you will grow up to be a Shieldmaiden and Faramir will ride with the Rohirrim.”

Boromir bit her lip and took a deep breath before she spoke again.

“But I miss home. I miss my mother and grandfather.”

Aragorn winced at the plaintive remark, but he didn’t dare shirk from the truth.

“Your mother is gone, little one. Your grandfather wants you to stay here. He sent you with me to Rohan so that you and Faramir would be safe. Gondor wasn’t safe anymore. Not like Rohan.”

“Is that why you’re my father and we have different names now? Because of what he did?”

Aragorn wished at that moment that he could run Denethor through for what he had attempted to do to Boromir and Faramir. Although it wasn’t clear in their minds, they still held the memory of fear and of fire and of danger. Nightmares had plagued them regularly in the early days and it had just been recently that they had started to sleep in the children’s quarters. Boromir even had a physical reminder of it: a small burn mark on her neck that was usually covered by her hair. Whenever he saw that, Aragorn’s hand would itch to kill the perpetrator.

He had also seen the wisdom of renaming the children until the time came for them to be able to go back home. Their looks already marked them out as different, since Boromir had her mother’s dark fall of hair and Faramir as well with green and grey eyes and the olive tones of their forefathers in their skin. Their looks and their names would have made it too easy for them to be tracked, so Aragorn had opted to rename them in the Rohirrim style to hide them even further. Boromir had become Morwen and Faramir had been named Fengel, making it easier to hide them in plain sight.

“Yes.”

Boromir looked down then before she threw her arms around his neck.

“I’m glad I have you for my father instead.”

He held her tightly and buried his nose in her hair, remembering the scent of another young girl uprooted from her home who trusted him to be her rock as well.

“I’m glad of it too.”

Six

He should have seen it coming. After all, he mused as he brushed down his horse and caught Eomer watching him carefully all of them were coming of age. It was only natural that they would be looking at each other as more than just playmates any more.  It still took him by surprise though, when he found himself looking at a Boromir, who sometimes looked like Finduilas and sometimes looked like Gilraen. Just as he had feared, there was nothing of Denethor in her and he had to be grateful that the blood of the Numenor ran true in her and could be attributed to her mother’s heritage.

He found himself watching her as she moved through sword practice and in the halls during the meal times and he couldn’t help but to see what her mother could have been had she been allowed the chance. She was free in so many ways that would have been denied to her in Gondor and for once, he didn’t resent Denethor for driving them out with his madness.

“Thorongil, could I have a word with you, if you please?”

Aragorn hid a smile at the slight waver in Eomer’s voice as he spoke. Despite proving himself a man, Eomer was nervous. Aragorn was glad that he was smart enough to be. He was Boromir and Faramir’s father all in name and he would do right by them in whatever aspect that he possibly could.

He put the brush down and turned to look at Eomer, who was thrumming with energy and the effort to not fidget and ruin his chances. He wet his lips before he spoke.

“I would…with your permission, that is, I would…I would have Morwen as my wife this spring.”

Aragorn considered the boy in front of him as he weighed the request. Eomer was everything his father had hoped that his son would be and sadly didn’t get to see. Brave, resourceful and hardy, he had held his own in battle and had become someone that Aragorn could trust to have his flank in a fight. He had trained the boy and had seen the makings of the warrior he would be if death didn’t come to him too soon.

He also could see the faint flush across his cheeks when he spoke her name and that was enough to tip the scales.  If he hadn’t seen that one show of emotion, he would have demurred. He didn’t want for Finduilas’ fate to be Boromir’s.

“What has the Eorl said about your desires?”

Aragorn asked, crossing his arms across his chest as he waited for a reply. Despite being disenfranchised, Boromir and Faramir were still of noble lineage and that had to be considered before any marriage pacts would be pursued.

“Theodred does not care for Morwen to be his wife.” Eomer replied slowly, making Aragorn wonder what exactly had been the real words stated during the conversation.

“He also…He is quite aware of how I feel about Morwen.” Eomer hurriedly stated, making Aragorn raise an eyebrow at the torrent of words.

“If the Eorl doesn’t object, then I don’t either.”

Eomer’s face lit up and he only just managed to babble out his thanks before he rushed out of the stables to search Boromir and Faramir out, no doubt. His golden hair flew out from behind him and he barely missed crashing into a cart before disappearing behind one of the thatched houses that dotted the landscape of Rohan.

Aragorn watched him go; only when he was completely gone did he turn back to his horse and murmur a prayer to the Valar in that he had done right by his daughter.

He finished his tasks and went into the hall, where the mood that had been clouded by grief and grim portents from the east had now cleared as the Eorl toasted his nephew and his soon to be niece in law. Boromir and Eomer weren’t standing together. Both were being corralled by either well-wishers or siblings in a never ending parade of joy. But when they had a moment without demands on them, their eyes would seek each other’s and when they would meet, small private smiles would light up their faces.

“So we are to be blood after all.” The Eorl interrupted his thoughts, pressing a cup of mead upon him. Aragorn smiled and took the proffered drink, taking a healthy mouthful of it.

“I suppose so. “ Aragorn replied, making the Eorl laugh heartily.

“I never would have thought, that time you rode into our lands that this day would come. That Thorongil’s daughter would marry the son of the Marshall.”

He took a drink of his own tankard and pointed to Eowyn, who despite talking to Boromir, only seemed to have eyes for Faramir. Faramir though, was subtly keeping unwelcome advances away by the sheer virtue of standing at his sister’s elbow.

“Then it will be their turn and three houses will have been joined.” The Eorl laughed and clapped him on the back before being pulled away by another reveller, leaving Aragorn holding the tankard in hands that where growing steadily colder.

He upended the tankard, drank it dry and went to look for more mead. He wouldn’t let that cloud the feast. Not when it was to celebrate his jewel’s happiness. Happiness that he was glad he was able to witness.

~*~*~*~*~

Aragorn was one of the first to wake as he was on patrol that morning. It was a practice run and he was to be accompanied by Theodred, Eomer, Faramir and a handful of other boys that had come of age. He had been their troop leader since last winter and their rota had fallen to that morning. No one was pleased about it, but they all dutifully strapped on their armour and went to the stables. The orcs had been more troublesome as of late and it wouldn’t do to keep a presence around their borders.

They rode out in silence that Aragorn demanded of his troops. He was the best tracker that all of them had ever known and obeyed him. They had come across the wold, the closest part of the eastern border and had been riding in relative peace when Aragorn felt them come. It wasn’t anything he could really explain. He just knew that the orcs were coming and he needed to get those boys in fighting formation.

He caught Faramir and Eomer’s eyes and gestured, both boys looking white as death when they saw the signal, but moved quickly to the others, getting them ready to face the attackers when they came. Their lances and swords were out, while Faramir and Aragorn had their bows at the ready.

And came they did in a noisy, disgusting wave of snarling wargs and orcs that made the horses whinny and try to shy away from them.  Aragorn let his arrow fly and Faramir did the same, both finding their mark in separate wargs, while Eomer led his horse deep into a throng of orcs and stamped them down with his horse. The lance, he and his cousin Theodred used to sweep orcs off of their feet or crush the legs of wargs before they could bring and drag anyone down.

The other boys of the troop followed suit, their cries mingling in with the din of battle. They all fought like men possessed, not daring to let the wargs or the orcs gain any purchase on their clothing or horses and leave them vulnerable. Aragorn kept his seat until an orc, bigger than the rest, managed to snap his lance and unseat him. Cursing, Aragorn scrambled to his feet and pulled out his sword, decapitating and disembowelling any orcs that came too close to him.

“Rohirrim!” He heard Eomer’s shouts and Faramir’s replies and he managed to spare a moment to see them fighting with their backs pressed to each other. Their swords flashed in deadly arcs and parabolas, cutting orcs and wargs down from neck to navel. The pile of bodies grew under them and Theodred pushed them into a barrier with the help of the others and grabbed discarded and broken lances.

Aragorn ducked and cut down an orc who had attacked him in that brief span of time. He didn’t get to see the results, but he heard them in the howls and creaking of broken lances. He heard the broken cheers and the renewed howls and screeches as more orcs and wargs found their deaths upon lances and swords.

He pushed the corpses out of his way, his eyes on both his horse and his troop. They were holding their own, now that the orcs were being slaughtered in the berserker frenzy that the troop had been whipped up into. Only a few remained, snarling and spitting until the last bit of life was hacked out of them.  He had just dispatched the last orc and had to brace his foot on the prostate body to pull out his sword, which was covered in orc blood.

Frowning, Aragorn bent down and wiped it clean on the grass before looking up. His entire troop was there, more or less. There were still a few hiding in the barrier, but most were coming out from behind it. Theodred was fetching the horses that hadn’t wandered off and some of the others were helping. The wounded were being taken care of, but there was no sight of Faramir or Eomer around, making Aragorn’s stomach clench.

He waded through the corpses, toward the barrier and leapt over the stinking bodies, his mind focused on his foster son and son in law. Faramir was kneeling by Eomer, his hands bloody as they kept pressure on the wound in his thigh. Eomer groaned and jerked, his face a pale white and his lips going a pale purple from the shock and blood loss. A blackened and bloodied orc blade lay nearby. Aragorn ran toward them and assessed the situation.

He didn’t speak as he dug into the pouch he always carried with him and dug out the necessary supplies. He took out a clean cloth and dipped it into a jar, wetting it thoroughly before pushing Faramir’s hands away from the wound. It was deep and bleeding still, but it was a sluggish bleeding and not spurting. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pressed the cloth into the wound, making Eomer give a strangled scream and try to get away, but Faramir had grabbed his shoulders and kept him still.

“It won’t be long.” Aragorn muttered as he wiped the wound until it was raw and pink and showed no red streaks. Eomer had already passed out when Aragorn threw the bloodied cloth away and pulled out the dried buds of the Athelas flower and pressed them into the raw gash before bandaging it up tightly. He sat back when finished and looked up at Faramir.

“He’ll live to see Morwen at the least.”

Seven

He had just stepped into the hall when he saw the visitor standing there, in his grey cloak and hat and looking like he had always looked. Aragorn felt his heart stutter at the sight, but he gamely went on, tucking his helmet under his arm as he came closer.

“Ah! Thorongil! It has been too long.”

Aragorn inclined his head and held out his hand. “It has indeed. What brings you to Rohan?”

Gandalf pulled out several letters from his sleeves and handed them to Aragorn.

“I also have a message from your father asking when you will return. It has been years since you last set foot in his home and many there miss you.”

Aragorn nodded as he glanced at the letters, one of them from Elrond and the other from Beregond and Imhadril, which he hadn’t quite expected.

“Do they expect an answer soon?” He asked, folding them up and tucking them into his belt.

“They all do, I would assume. Especially Ecthelion, now that his son has finally succumbed.”

Aragorn’s hands clenched, but he remained silent and the silence between himself and Gandalf stretched and was only broken by the sounds of children’s and women’s laughter.

“Oh! Father! I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll take-“

“It’s all right, Morwen. You have come at the right time to meet an old and great friend. Morwen meet Gandalf the Grey. Gandalf this is my daughter and my grandsons, Elfwine and Eomund.”

Boromir came closer, holding the hands of two boys who couldn’t have been more than four and three years old. Both had their father’s tangled gold hair and their mother’s bright green eyes and her olive skin. Gandalf’s eyes flickered back and forth between Aragorn, Boromir and the children as he bent down and greeted them, performing several small magic tricks to amuse them before Boromir excused herself and the children and took them to the dining hall deeper into Meduseld.

“I see why you have chosen to hide yourself here, all these years.” Gandalf commented quietly.

“I couldn’t just leave them alone. Not when I had given my word to keep them safe.”

Gandalf nodded politely at that statement, making Aragorn sigh raggedly.

“The situation has gotten worse, Thorongil. Much worse.”

~*~*~*~

He and the Eorl treated Gandalf as the esteemed guest that he was, food was prepared in his honour and the night was the same as the rest. But Aragorn could feel Gandalf’s eyes on him, wanting an answer that Aragorn wasn’t sure that he could give. He had a simple life in Rohan and the only expectations he had to meet were the ones set by his king and the growing family he had a hand in founding. He didn’t have to shoulder the burden of a line that was nearly gone into antiquity. Or the burden of claiming a crown when he doubted the strength within him to wield that power properly.

He was also aware of the darkness and how it was all tied to what Elrond had explained to him before he set out to Gondor and Rohan. He had to make a decision. There was no time left.

Especially not when Ecthelion was asking for Faramir back to take his place as the Steward of Gondor and save the White City from the darkness that encroached from Mordor daily. He mourned the White City and mourned her fate, but Faramir was too young to shoulder such a burden. He promised himself he would bring it up with Faramir after dinner. He would show him the letter and tell him the truth and let him make up his own mind.

But he still didn’t know what his answer would be for Gandalf before he departed in the morning. So he remained quiet and watched as Boromir and Eowyn dealt with the children and Faramir and Eomer talked and laughed as was their wont as brothers in arms. Rohan was their home.

~*~*~*~*

He stayed awake, with his old pipe in his mouth and his feet on one of the narrow ledges as he smoked and let his thoughts wander were they would. His eyes drooped, but he still wouldn’t give into the siren call of sleep.

He was in that state, caught between wakefulness and sleep when Faramir’s screams pierced it.

He sat up and rushed towards his foster son, who was thrashing in his sleep at the far corner of the room. Aragorn reached out to shake him, but recoiled when he saw Faramir’s eyes were wide open and fixed at a point in the wall that only he could see.

“Fengel! Fengel!”

Faramir eyes widened, then fluttered open and shut as his hands clamped down with enough force to make Aragorn wince. Faramir pulled them away quickly and sat up, his chest heaving as he got himself under control. He took several deep and shuddering breaths and looked at Aragorn.

“There is a ring and the darkness is getting deeper and stronger in the east. He’s looking for it. That is what I saw in my dreams. That the forces of Mordor are looking for it and Gondor…Gondor will fall. Father, what does it mean? Why am I having these dreams?”

Aragorn sighed raggedly, sinking down on the bed heavily in front of Faramir, who was looking at him in expectation. In return, Aragorn pulled out the letters he had just received from Gandalf and passed them over to his foster son.

“Read these and I will fill in the blanks.”

~*~*~*~

“Take care of him, whatever you do, take care of him.” Boromir whispered in his ear as she embraced him tightly. Her heart was beating rapidly and Aragorn could smell that unique scent of her that reminded him of her mother. He embraced her in return before burying his nose in her neck.

“And take care of yourself. You are my father. I expect you to live to see your grandchildren take the field.” She kissed his temple fiercely and he closed his eyes as she said that.

“I will try, Morwen. I will try. Just like you will take care of the little ones as well.”

She laughed softly, pulling away and smiling a tear-tinged smile.

“I will. I promise you that, father.”

He nodded and let Faramir take his place. He watched the siblings embrace and looked at Gandalf, who was watching the proceedings thoughtfully.

“Will you tell the Lady Undomiel?” Gandalf asked, watching Faramir give Eowyn his farewell before heading towards them. Faramir was busy with his horse when Aragorn gave his answer.

“There are no secrets between us, Gandalf. I will tell her all that passed in Gondor and Rohan and that is all I will speak of it with anyone else.”

Aragorn replied, climbing on his horse. Gandalf nodded and they all spurred their horses away from Rohan and toward Rivendell.

End.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Gilraen-Aragorn's mother, who died when he was young. It's not explicitly said, but she is also a Numenorean and they tend to live a very long time.  
>  _Mein Eskelde_ -Viggo Mortensen said this in the first movie and a Danish friend explained that it wasn't Elvish, but Danish and it means "My Darling" or "My Love" cannot recall at the moment.
> 
> Morwen-Reputed to be one of the historical shieldmaidens of Rohan and also the name of King Theoden's mother. Fengel was the name of a past king of Rohan. Aragorn would have picked out the names as a diplomatic move and yes, to curry favour with Rohan, since it was a tricky thing to have the heirs of Gondor in the Rohirrim court even if it was sanctioned by the Steward, Albeit not openly. 
> 
> Also, I suspect that the birth of a child in Gondor would have been one where the men kept their distance and didn't stick around unless the woman was already cleaned up and the child was a boy. Then they would be there.


End file.
